Which way should I—

Up, you fool!

Fionn tore up the stairs. With the excitement of waking up so abruptly now fading, he was becoming aware of how uncomfortably cold his bare feet were.

He reached the top of the tower. It seemed quite different than the one from his dream, as this one had a black and green tapestry hung on the far end of the large, circular room, and its windows were shuttered closed.

Apparently sensing Fionn’s apprehension, Sir Bearach yelled, Out across the battlements, lad, go!

Taking a deep breath, Fionn pushed through a reinforced wooden door, and ran out into the freezing night.

Me and Ash used to hide up here, said Bearach, as Fionn crossed the castle walls. Up ahead, two towers stood, one slightly taller than the other. Whenever we had chores that we didn’t want to do or lessons we didn’t want to learn.

Barely listening, Fionn increased the heat of his flame and held it close to his chest. Through gritted teeth, he grimaced as the cold air entered his lungs.

He welcomed the relative warmth of the Northern Tower as he entered and sprinted up its steps. As he approached the top, he recognised his surroundings, focusing on a window that opened into the darkness, over the slated roof of the smaller tower.

Even before he reached it, Fionn saw there was a figure sitting outside.

He readied a fist of fire. After all that she had done, from Penance to Dromán, from her hometown to the capital of Alabach, Morrígan would finally pay.

Fionn ran to the window, ready to launch a ball of fire at the figure, until it turned, revealing herself to be indeed Morrígan. She spread her great black wings outwards, a stark contrast to her pale, expressionless face.

“Lower your weapon,” she said, her voice cold and even. “We both know that neither of us can die, so fighting would be pointless.”

Fionn paused but did not quell his flame.

She’s lying! roared Sir Bearach. Kill her now and end it all!

“As I’m sure you know,” she said, “I can destroy this tower, and the land beneath it faster than you can click your fingers. You may also be wondering why I haven’t done so already.”

Considering this, Fionn slowly let the fire in his hands go out.

What are you doing? said Sir Bearach.

If she wants to, she could bury us, replied Fionn. Best not to give her a reason to. Not yet, at least.

“What do you want?” he said aloud.

“Many things, Fionn the Red. But for now, only to talk.”

Fionn paused for a moment, considering her strange request, given all that had happened. He was well aware of how warring generals would often parlay on the eve of a great battle. Even King Móráin the First did this with the Simians when he landed in Alabach. It was an honour to be upheld no matter how both sides hated one another. Maybe she would uphold the same here?

Don’t be daft, lad! cried Sir Bearach. She opened up the earth itself to swallow an entire army, you included! Where is the honour in that? Incinerate her where she stands!

But we have so many questions, said Fionn, attempting to convince the knight. However, the mage’s mind was already made up.

“Fine,” he said. He sat on the windowsill and let his legs dangle off the ledge, facing Morrígan, who stood on the roof of the lower tower. “What do you wish to talk about?”

Morrígan smirked. “I am seeking your help.”

Bearach guffawed loudly. Fionn almost wanted to do the same. “Why in the Holy Hell would I ever, ever, want to help you?”

“Because, Fionn the Red,” said Morrígan, shuffling and unfurling her wings, “both of us have been lied to.”

“You will need speak more plainly than that. And you keep using my old title. I’m a Firemaster now.”

“No. According to the Tapestry of Fate, you never made it to Penance, and you never killed Conleth to earn the title of Firemaster.”

Fionn balled his hands into a fist. For her to speak so casually about what happened to Conleth, all he wanted to do was kill her there and then.

No lad! said Sir Bearach. Let her speak first.

What happened to incinerating her where she stands?

Do that afterwards!

“Sure,” said Fionn, relaxing his fingers. “The Lady Meadhbh said I was meant to die on the way to Penance.”

“She lied,” said Morrígan. “Or at least, She did not tell the full truth. Fate dictated that you were to set upon by bandits, but they did not kill you. They tried, but your Divine Gift frightened them, and they sank you to the bottom of Heretic’s Bay.”

“The dream,” said Fionn. “I saw….”

“I showed you,” said Morrígan. “I showed you what the Tapestry dictates should have happened. In reality, Farris the Simian killed those bandits on his own journey to Penance. A journey that was never meant to happen. For instead of dying at the Clifflands, as he was meant to, he spread seeds of chaos throughout the threads of fate.”

“And you were meant to find me,” said Fionn. “You opened up the ocean and found me on its floor.”

“This is what concerned me,” said Morrígan. “The power of Meadhbh allows me to see Tapestry as it was originally written, but I lack her centuries of wisdom to fully interpret the meaning. That is why I need your help.”

Fionn nodded slowly.

“As it was written,” Morrígan began, “you were buried in Heretic Bay, and I came to find you. But I do not understand why I would do that.”

“Was it not to claim my power too?” said Fionn. “As you did with Diarmuid and Meadhbh? As you seek to do with Seletoth?”

“That is what I assumed,” said Morrígan. “As it was written, I killed Diarmuid in Cruachan, Meadhbh in Dromán, then Seletoth atop Mount Selyth. These, I was destined to do in quick succession, urged by a lust to become like the gods themselves.

“But when I slew Meadhbh and saw the Tapestry of Fate for myself, I stopped to study it. For it was written that I would never reach Penance, which I already had, and that I would kill King Diarmuid in Cruachan, which I never did. Upon searching for an answer, I saw the actions of Farris the Simian, like a scorch-mark through its threads, unravelling them wherever he went. Other Simians bore similar marks upon, though none as large as his.

“And as I examined them, I saw what was meant to become of you, which then brings me to how I was meant to find you on the bottom of Heretic’s Bay.”

“Why is that so important?” said Fionn. “You said so yourself, you want to steal the powers of the gods. Surely this would include me too?”

“That is logical,” said Morrígan. “But the words I was meant to say upon finding you were not. As it was written, I said, ‘Come, Fionn, Lord Seletoth is waiting for us.’”

Fionn stared back. He recalled that she said those words in his dream; the dream she had apparently shown him, but still, he didn’t follow.

Morrígan sighed. “Consider this,” she said, adapting the air of a teacher. “My words imply the Seletoth was still alive at this point, as it was written, and that I had spoken to Him. Furthermore, they also imply that He knew you were alive, and wanted both of us to come to Him.”